It doesn't end here
by irisdouglasiana
Summary: The measure of a life together, in six photographs.


1\. There's a photo that sits in Daniel's desk for years and years. It's blurry and the lighting is poor and it's not a very flattering shot of Peggy. He caught her just as she was turning around, half blinking, mouth wide open, right there in Whitney Frost's bedroom. He never shows her because she would hate it if she saw it and he can't stand the thought of throwing it away. Sometimes the photo gets buried under stacks of paper and it vanishes for months, but in the end it always resurfaces. The bottom corner tears; the edges get a little worn from too much handling. But he keeps it.

There's something about that moment in the photograph that he can't quite name. Something to do with the way her dress folds as she turns towards him, something to do with her old hairstyle, something to do with how _young_ she looks—how young they both had been, despite everything they had already lived through. Not even knowing that they were standing on the edge together, about to jump, about to begin.

* * *

2\. It's only her second time spending the night at Daniel's place, so she still isn't used to seeing him like this in the morning—wearing only boxers and an undershirt, his hair a glorious curly mess, a bit of stubble shading his face. Leg off, making his way around the kitchen on crutches to make her coffee. She likes this version of him, normally so careful about his appearance. Then again, so is she. But here she is, sneaking up on him in his kitchen, wearing his bathrobe, no makeup, curls still pinned up, camera in hand. Peggy clears her throat and snaps a picture when he turns around.

"Not fair, Carter," Daniel grumbles, reaching out to grab the camera.

She dodges him easily. "Oh, I rather think it is." As the proud new owner of that blasted camera, he had spent the previous evening snapping candids of her at Santa Monica. She had been about ready to snatch it out of his hands and toss it over the pier, but this is a better solution.

"You're not keeping that photo."

"Why not? You took all those pictures of me last night; I should get to have at least one of you."

"Yeah, except I wasn't taking pictures of you in your underwear, was I?"

"Nobody says you couldn't." Then she realizes what she just said and she blushes furiously. Too late to take it back. Except she doesn't really want to take it back.

Daniel almost drops the coffee pot. He's turning red too. "Oh. Well, in _that_ case…" He holds out his hand and she reluctantly gives the camera back to him. He immediately takes the opportunity to snap a picture of her.

"Daniel!" She crosses her arms.

"Now we're even," he says with a straight face, but then he gives her that little infuriating _smirk_ of his—and, well, Peggy's never been one to turn down a challenge…

* * *

3\. They had some formal wedding portraits taken before the ceremony, courtesy of Ana Jarvis—the usual, arms linked together, her clutching a bouquet of peonies, both of their smiles a little stiff. Daniel framed one of them to put on their nightstand. But it's not the picture Peggy keeps in her wallet.

The picture in her wallet was taken a few seconds after the formal portrait, when Daniel couldn't hold in a massive sneeze any longer. Ana snapped the picture with Daniel doubled over and Peggy with her eyes wide and a hand clapped over her mouth. Peggy had laughed until her sides hurt and she started hiccuping, and then Daniel couldn't stop laughing either. They had to delay the ceremony for a few minutes until they could compose themselves, since neither could look at the other without cracking up.

Peggy had been anxious all morning until the moment Ana took that picture, not because she wasn't ready or thought she was making a mistake, but because it was such a monumental decision to tie her life to his and now it was really _happening_. There was a finality to it that she hadn't fully reckoned with. But then Daniel sneezed and all of those nerves went out the window and she thought, _oh yes, this is the man I am marrying and I love him_. She kept that thought close as they walked down the aisle together, as they exchanged rings, as they said the words, and as they kissed.

And that was that, and that was everything.

* * *

4\. The last few months have been rough, between being new parents and both of them experiencing trouble at work. The exhaustion is evident in the pictures taken of them at Howard's Christmas party—posing next to the garishly decorated tree, Peggy with dark circles under her eyes that not even makeup can conceal, Daniel leaning half on his crutch and half on her. They barely stay for an hour, just long enough to be polite, before the baby starts to wail and they make their excuses and escape. The car ride is usually sufficient to put her to sleep, but not this time. She screams the entire way home.

And Peggy is so very tired. She started having nightmares again when she became pregnant and they haven't stopped. Between the baby, her bad dreams, and Daniel's, she hasn't had a decent night of sleep in months. In the passenger seat, she tilts her head back and wills herself to not snap at the baby for crying, or at Daniel, who's talking to their daughter to calm her down. It isn't working.

"You okay, Peg?" Daniel murmurs as they pull up to the house.

 _No, not really_. "Fine."

He rubs his eyes. "I'll put her to bed. You should lie down." Though he won't admit it, from the slight grimace on his face and the amount of time it takes him to get out of the car and on his feet, she can tell he's hurting. Still, she doesn't protest. She heads straight for bed, kicks off her shoes, and lies there waiting for the screams to subside. She feels like a lousy mother; a lousy wife. _Selfish_ , she imagines her own mother saying.

At last, Daniel joins her in the bedroom. She closes her eyes and listens to him rustling around as he undresses, takes off his leg, and crawls into bed next to her. He strokes her hair and kisses her forehead and suddenly she feels the tears welling up. "Sorry," she whispers, not trusting her voice.

"For what?"

 _Because I don't know what's wrong with me_ , she wants to say. "I don't know."

"Oh, Peggy." He pulls her close. "I'm with you every step of the way, dearest. You know that."

She does. She holds on tight and doesn't let go.

* * *

5\. The call Daniel has been dreading comes just after midnight. His aunt is on the line: _Daniel, your father had a stroke. You need to come right away_. Without saying much, he and Peggy make the necessary calls and drop their sleepy children off with the Jarvises. She holds his hand during the entire flight to New York, rubbing his palm with her thumb.

They go straight from the airport to the hospital, where Daniel's father still lies in a coma. Daniel takes a seat next to him and grasps his hand gently. His mind drifts back to early 1945—he couldn't say when, exactly—when he had been the one lying in the hospital bed, with his father sitting beside him. Peggy squeezes his shoulder and she dips out after a little while to run some errands, sensing that he needs to be alone. Once she leaves, something opens up inside of Daniel and the words start spilling out of him like they never have before; all the things he never realized he needed to say to his father. He talks until his voice grows hoarse, until the nurses try to kick him out, until Peggy returns and forces him to come down to the cafeteria to eat.

As he forces down half a sandwich, Peggy puts her head down on the table. He takes her hand. "Thanks for coming with me."

She raises her head and pushes her hair back, a small smile on her lips. He's always taken in by her beauty, her courage, the intelligence in her eyes. Everything that makes her Peggy. "My darling, where else would I be?"

It's Daniel's idea to take a break from the hospital and swing by the building that used to house the SSR. They take the stairs up from the subway and step out into the light and suddenly Daniel is transported twenty years into the past, when the war was still so close and so raw and both of them had been trying to find their way forward. Everything he had forgotten comes flooding back—his first days as Agent Sousa, acutely conscious of all the eyes on him, pressuring himself to work harder and stay later than everyone else for the barest sliver of respect. 1946 doesn't feel so far away after all.

Since there are no pictures of the two of them from their early SSR days, they flag down a passing tourist to take a photo of them now, standing outside the building that used to be called the New York Bell Company. He glances at Peggy and wonders what memories are going through her mind. Sometimes he still can't believe that she's right here beside him. That in this vast world they share with billions of people, she chose him, and he chose her.

Later, back in the hospital, Daniel dozes off in the chair next to his father's bed. He wakes up with a start when someone takes his hand—his father, unable to speak, but with tears in his eyes. A lump rises in Daniel's throat and his voice breaks a little.

 _I got you, Pop. I'm here_.

* * *

6\. The anniversary celebration was entirely the children's idea. Peggy had been prepared to put her foot down—too much fuss for a party; too much other work to be done—but then Daniel had sided with them and she had no choice but go along with it. ("Forty years is a pretty big deal, Peg.")

And yet, as she sits on the couch next to Daniel and smiles politely as Maria takes a picture of them—she's as bad as her father with that bloody camera—she does marvel a little at how quickly the years have flown by. So many friends, come and gone. The children, all grown up and leading their own lives. And despite the occasional rough patch, she couldn't ask for a better partner than the man sitting beside her. They've come so far together, and it doesn't end here.

The music changes to a slower tempo and she closes her eyes. She hasn't heard this song in ages. _You think that I don't love you, oh, but I do_ …

When she opens her eyes again, Daniel is looking at her with a smile on his face that makes her heart flutter. He gets to his feet slowly and offers her his hand. "Director Carter, may I have this dance?"

"Always, my darling." She takes his hand, and they soar.


End file.
